


Sand at my Feet, Stars in my Sky

by Lionescence



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Desert Keith Week 2018, Gen, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence/pseuds/Lionescence
Summary: Keith's time alone in the desert might have tested anyone else. But Keith was a child of the empty wilds, of the sand and sun and stars.In the desert, he was home.Welcome to Desert Keith Week 2018!Day 1: ProvisionsDay 2: WildlifeDay 3: ClimateDay 4: ScoutingDay 5: RestDay 6: HorizonsDay 7: Free Day





	Sand at my Feet, Stars in my Sky

“You realize the hours are early, don’t you, son?”

Keith nodded, pulling his back straighter. He needed this job. “You want bread to be ready for sale at 9 am. Of course you start early.”

The man threw him a smirk. “Oh, and you’ve done your fair share of baking then, have you?”

“Do you have a sourdough starter?”

“I wouldn’t be a running a bakery if I didn’t,” the man replied, wary now, but interested.

“Then give me a couple of hours. For nothing. I’ll make you a loaf.”

And after those two hours, Keith left the bakery with a new job, five horrendously early days a week, and half of the loaf of sourdough he’d baked, the owner of the bakery happy enough with the results that he wanted to keep the half he’d broken into. Along with the twenty hours a week at the local garage just down the road from the bakery, he figured that was more than enough to support himself when his Garrison stipend ran out.

It was just as well that he tended to rise with the sun. Just as he always had with his father.

His first week back at the small shack that once served as his father’s office and workshop, he bought little more than canned goods, some bread, and bottled water. The rest of consisted of cleaning supplies, replacements for some of the tools that he found, whatever he needed to get the water systems working again. He did fine without the generator; he found the old camping stove and gas lantern.

He’d cried, when he found them, remembering those camping trips, sleeping out under the stars, his father showing him the constellations, telling him stories. He still wondered, sometimes, how many of those stories were true.

The second week, after small hands and no small amount of patience earned him a job at the garage, he was able to get the generator running. The sink in the small kitchen decided to give up its tap, and a very wet Keith found himself back at the hardware store. By now his data contract with the Garrison had been cut off, but he also had the generator, and was smart enough to get himself a data account buried under enough layers to continue to keep the Garrison cut off from him.

And Matt claimed he never paid attention. The irony.

YouTube videos and online tutorials taught him what he needed to know about basic plumbing and maintenance, how to replaces panes of glass in windows, how to reshingle a roof, how to win a fight against a stubborn door hinge. How to check if his tetanus shot was still in date, because goddamn that cut hurt and that nail was rusty. At least he’d passed his first aid course at the Garrison with flying colours. He never really forgot the bits that his father had taught him when he was a kid.

He didn’t really know why he spent so much of his time and meagre budget on the shack. Other than the fact that he had nowhere else to go, now that he was nineteen and out of state care. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he figured he was mourning, and this was how he was processing it: by keeping busy, by rebuilding something that could at least be rebuilt, unlike the shattered remains of his heart.

By coming back to the strength of his father, of that love that left him when he was nine, but that never really died.

Three months after his expulsion, and the little shack was as close to a home as it could get, its sad, empty shell repaired, its generator and water pumps humming quietly, and in the night it glowed warmly, a small dim speck in the desert landscape. Keith worked fewer hours at the garage, tired of being recognized every so often by Garrison cadets and staff alike, but he kept working at the bakery. They let him bring home enough bread every week to last him well, and no longer spending money on the shack meant he was able to eat a little better.

Not by much. Just enough that he couldn’t hear an imaginary voice telling him to take care of himself better.

He still couldn’t eat mac n’ cheese. It hurt too much.

For a little while, he wondered if this was it. This was his existence, silent and alone.

And then he woke to the sound of a mighty purr, and he wasn’t so alone anymore.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have gotten very attached to Keith's dad. I don't think this is the last time he'll feature in this collection. 
> 
> Damn you, DW.


End file.
